


Built From All I Have Torn Apart

by plentyofmalk



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Rescue Missions
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-04
Updated: 2016-11-29
Packaged: 2018-07-29 09:58:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,586
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7679944
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/plentyofmalk/pseuds/plentyofmalk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>Her whole life she’d been a willing lab rat in the pursuit of science and discovery. But this, she realized, was the first time she really knew what it was like to be a </i>rat<i>. Some pest that had finally been found hiding in the walls where it didn’t belong. It was decidedly worse.</i></p><p>----</p><p>Season 2 AU starting at 'A Hen in the Wolf House', where Simmons doesn't make it to the extraction point.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Two In

Simmons had felt like a lab rat more times than she could count.

In her second year at the academy with Fitz, she’d spent hours in quarantine after spilling their fall semester project all over the both of them (and she didn’t care what he said, it was _his_ fault for leaving their formula uncapped in the first place.) Even recently, she remembered Coulson sealing her off on the bus when she contracted the Chitauri virus, and the hiss of the lab doors as they closed, sounding an awful lot like a death-sentence. Countless experiments gone wrong. Her whole life she’d been a willing lab rat in the pursuit of science and discovery.

But this, she realized, was the first time she really knew what it was like to be a _rat_. Some pest that had finally been found hiding in the walls where it didn’t belong. It was decidedly worse. 

Her thick soles pounded against the stark white tiles of the hallway, the desperation to gain ground overwhelming the part of her brain telling her that being so loud was most likely negating the _hide_ aspect of _run and hide_. 

Somewhere in the back of her brain she heard the words that she’d repeated to herself so many times in the last two months: _’Didn’t even pass our field assessments, for God’s sake.’_ Sometimes it was in his exasperated voice, sometimes in her own, mockingly. But she pushed it back down because it was useless now. Hindsight wasn’t going to get her out of there, but (burning) muscles and sheer will just might. She stuttered to a stop only long enough to slip through one of Hydra’s numerous unlabeled rooms, the squeak from her boots echoing slightly through the open space. She knew the layout well enough to know the floor was filled with extra lab space -- rooms for projects deemed too much of a security risk or too messy to be conducted in the open lab where they normally worked. Two weeks ago Kenneth had kindly suggested that she take one of her more... _fragrant_ dissections into a room just like this.

It was when she found herself there that her breath finally stood a chance of catching up with her. She was almost certain her stomach defied logic and bottomed out long ago, the weight of her panic causing it to drop out from the rest of her body somewhere between the third and fourth stretch of hallway after she panicked and split from Bobbi. She could come back for it later, Jemma decided, and quickly engaged the lock on the lab door to buy her as much time as possible. It wasn’t much, but it was infinitely better than where she was seconds ago. Surveying the space, she took note of the windows lining the exterior wall, allowing the outside lights of the city to seep in so her eyes could adjust with relative ease. Unsure, and still being driven by the necessity to hide as much as she could, she found herself under the lab bench farthest from the door and closest to the windows before she realized her feet had moved at all.

She took a breath for what felt like the first time in minutes.-- _One in. One out. One in._ \-- and quickly reached for the phone in her pocket. Her did her best to steady her jittery fingers as they struck the keypad and was thankful for the fact she was at least living the kind of nightmare where she managed to dial it right on the first try. 

The halls were mercifully quiet behind her.

He picked up on the first ring.

“Simmons, where are you?”

One out. Her voice was hushed from fear and exhaustion. “Sir, I’m afraid I’ve been burned. Someone has been following me, they sent photos-” She heard him about to speak, but the words continued to spill out of her. “Bobbi’s cover is blown, too. She was taking me to the roof for extraction, but Bakshi showed up and- I shouldn’t have run, but I did.” _One in_ , quick through her nose as she gathered herself. “I’ve lost them for the moment and managed to lock myself into a side room, but now I’m at a bit of a loss.”

She could hear the open and quick shut of a car door on the other end of the line. She thought she heard Skye in the background, making out words like _so_ and _should have let me_ and then the soft start of an engine. She became distracted from the commotion on the other end when she saw the mark her boot left on the ground in her haste to find her current hiding spot. Marks that she realized would be evident across the halls, and even more so in front of the door behind her, when she dug her heels in to bring her body to a halt. _Shite_.

She’d left them a map right to her.

“And I don’t think I have much time.” She added. Her voice sounded hollow even to herself. _Everything is fine. You will be fine._

_’Didn’t even pass out field assessments for God’s sake…’_

“Do you know what floor you’re on? What direction are you facing? Bobbi and Trip are on the quinjet ready to come to you. Can you open a window?” His questions were rapidfire and efficient and she knows what he’s asking. A small seed of hope planted in her chest. 

“Third floor, east. And yes.”

“Third floor east, she’s going to the window now.” Coulson said. She heard his exact words echoed by May, who must’ve been communicating them to Trip. “Simmons.” He prompted her.

But she was already on it, muscles reacting to the promise of escape, bringing her to the window. She caught the phone between her cheek and shoulder, so both hands could work on the pushing the pane up enough to get through. One hard tug and...nothing. Panic resumed until she noticed the safety latch, which she quickly disengaged.

“Bobbi’s out, you said?” At his affirmation, she added, “she really is quite remarkable, sir. Please don’t blame her for my ill-decision to panic.”

“Don’t worry about that right now,” His voice was half soothing, half chiding. “I expect to hear all about it in your debriefing tomorrow morning.” It was a promise, a vote of confidence she needed to hear.

“Of course.”

She raised the window open clumsily, almost dropping the phone until she twisted her shoulder to catch it. Air from the outside blew in gently, but to Simmons it felt strong and life-saving and she couldn’t breathe it in fast enough or deep enough to her liking.

_One in_ , as she she smelled something fresh and cool and not at all the stale recycled air she’d become used to recently. Nevermind that the Playground had arguably worse air quality, but it shared something with the breeze coming in that Hydra’s facility could never replicate. She breathed in this air the same as she breathed in at the Playground and both had the promise of home.

She breathed _out and out and out_ to make room for more.

With the window open, it was easier to hear the occasional gunshot ringing out from the roof, presumably Hydra still attempting to take out a quinjet with handgun. When she was safe, she decided, she’d look back and laugh at the imagery. Like some modern David and Goliath, even if lately Shield has been used to identifying more with David’s plight. It felt nice to have the big guns (literally) for once.

Jemma could hear the quinjet just seconds before she saw it with her own eyes, and smiled when she could make out Trip’s form through the window of the cockpit. She couldn’t see it herself, but for a split second, the bright grin she hadn’t seen for months emerged when he spotted her himself, retreating just as quickly and replaced with a thin line of focus. He navigated the jet with skill on his way to her end of the building, careful not to come in too close or too strong.

“I see them!” She was so anxious for the rescue that she neglected to keep her voice as low as she should have been. After making it a point to not look down, she swung one leg out the window and straddled the sill. She had never been particularly fond of heights as it was, but she had a newfound fear after joining the team. Jumping out of a plane would do that to you, she supposed. As she was about to duck to fit the rest of her body through the frame, a resounding _boom_ registered and Jemma’s heart stopped. To her left, the door to the lab was kicked in with ease, and instantly the doorway was flooded with three Hydra employees, guns drawn and aimed directly at her. She didn’t know that she’d even made a sound until Coulson reacted.

“Simmons, what’s happening? Simmons!” But she didn’t hear, because she’d removed the phone from her ear when she raised her hands above her head.

If she’d only been a little faster.

Bakshi strolled in, quickly commanding the agent to his right with a terse command to grab her. She counted four long strides before he had one arm wrapped around her waist, pulling her firmly back into the room. With the other, he wrangled her own arms down and pinned to her sides, dragging her struggling to Bakshi. Out the window, Trip navigated the quinjet to stay within her line of sight. Although the jet was equipped to strike, she knew that he wouldn’t risk provocation any more than they already had.

Bakshi, surrounded by chaos and fresh from chasing her tail through the building, still looked remarkably well put together despite it all. When they brought her closer, his nostrils flared with an exaggerated inhale while he sized her up and down. It reminded her to breathe as well -- _one in_ \-- but the air smelled stale again. She kept eye contact as he examined her, and realized he actually looked like he might be eyeing her with a modicum of relief. Because he knew where they stood or that he could now act accordingly because of it, she wasn’t sure. 

“Doctor,” he greeted her, professional. His eyes traveled back down to her hand, where the phone was still clutched and connected to Coulson. “The phone, please.”

There was no need to say please, she thought bitterly, seeing as he took the device for himself anyway.

He flattened his tie (the only thing out of place) with one hand while he put the phone on speaker with the other. “I’m sorry, Miss Simmon’s is unavailable, but I can take a message for her if you like.”

“Bakshi.”

He paused for a moment, until he realized who he’s speaking with, then smiled because _of course Fury would leave the keys to Coulson_. “Ahh, yes, I’ve been wondering who’s been attempting to rebuild Shield up from the rubble. Agent Coulson, it’s so nice to speak with you, I imagine we have a lot to talk about.”

“It’s Director now, actually. And how about I let my people shoot your people before we discuss coffee?” Coulson responded.

Bakshi laughed. “Coffee, I should think you know well enough to offer tea.” At this, he looked back at Simmons because, differences aside, surely she would agree. When she gave him nothing, he waved her off. “I’m afraid we’ll have to take a raincheck on that. But don’t worry Agent Coulson,” he seemed to make a point to ignore the earlier correction, “I’m sure our paths will be crossing sooner rather than later. In the meantime, I believe Miss Simmons is overdue for a performance review.”

He reached for her then, thumb pressing into her cheek to force her to face him. Oddly, she noticed the softness of his fingertips, despite the pressure he was applying into her jaw. A menacing figure. _Someone who calls the shots, but has never gotten their hands dirty_ , she concluded. His touch made her something twist in her gut and, in contrast, she could feel her own nails dig into her palms. It was an old unconscious habit of hers-- applying pressure to herself in a way no one ever tended to notice.

Well, not no one. Fitz noticed it during their first presentation in Mr. Vaughn’s class, but it had taken several more projects before he’d been comfortable enough to tap a knuckle to the back of her hand when he saw it happening, slyly enough to not make a scene. It was reminder to go easy on herself. If it was particularly bad, he’d always find one excuse or another to soothe her palm with his own, calloused fingers. Beyond the occasional joking, _’You’re not pawning off your lab work on me that easy, Simmons,’_ it was never spoken about (it didn’t need to be).

She reminded herself of it, and allowed herself the indulgence of imagining herself somewhere else for a moment, before relieving the pressure just enough and opening her eyes to meet Bakshi’s.

Certain that he had her attention back, he continued, holding the phone between them. When he spoke next, it was colder. “Call off your men, Coulson. We’ll kill her if you don’t, and I think we can agree that we don’t want that. A mind like hers,” He brushed the same soft fingertips to her temple, “would be a shame to waste so quickly.”

If Jemma had any control over herself at the moment, she would have really, _really_ loved to throw up all over his suit.

She wasn’t sure who was waiting more anxiously for Coulson’s response, which was… silence. They could hear a soft rustle on the other end, where he’d covered the speaker to keep them out of the conversation. The answer they were waiting for came a moment later, when the quinjet slowly retreated away from the building. If a plane could move regretfully, Jemma thought Trip has managed to make it do so. She knew, tactically, it was the right call. It didn’t do anything to make her feel better, but at least she _knew_.

“Good choice, _Director_ Coulson, I believe we’re done here for now.” Bakshi motioned the phone to her. “Unless you have anything to wrap up here.”

“Simmons.” Coulson’s voice startled her. Her name used as an apology. She breathed, _one in_ , and swallowed.

“I know, sir.”

“Riveting, truly. Gentlemen.” The operatives in the room began to move at his implied order, and she tensed. Bakshi took the phone back, off speaker, to finish his conversation with Coulson. “I would advise you to keep your phone nearby. We’ll be in touch, and I would hate for you to miss anything important.”

He didn’t wait for a response, ending the call and tucking the phone into the inside pocket of his suit. He patted his chest and brushed dust that wasn’t even there off of his sleeve before looking back at her. He motioned to the brute behind her before turning toward the door. They pushed her forward, and her heel left a single mark where she struggled at the start. From ahead of her, with his back turned, she heard Bakshi’s clipped voice.

“I believe you’re overdue for a full tour upstairs, Agent Simmons.”

__________________________________________

It took everything in him to remember Bakshi’s last words to prevent him from slamming the phone on the dash. Instead, he gathered himself for a moment, then in one burst of anger, mutters _damn it_ and drove his elbow into the SUV’s door. May remained unaffected behind the wheel (she’d seen this before, she’d see it again, and her focus was on getting back to the base and regrouping). Hunter too was unnaturally quiet in the back seat, opting instead to examine the tagging gun still in his hand.

Ultimately, it was Skye who broke the silence, amidst trying process the events at the restaurant and her father the monster and _what had they done_? She didn’t even both to look at her heart monitor, she could count the beats against her chest and hear the too-frequent thump ringing in her ears.

“Coulson.” He remained silent. “Coulson, what do we do?”

He heard her, of course, but didn’t know what to say. The anger had settled, and Bakshi’s words that had been running through his head had been replaced by his own guilt over what had just transpired. They would go back to the base, he thought. Bobbi would have insight into their facilities. Trip and May would organize a plan. Hunter would divide up weapons to the group. They wouldn’t wait around for Bakshi’s call, but they’d be ready for it if it came.

It should’ve made him feel better, but he couldn’t get the running thought to leave his head.

_Two agents in_. He gathered himself with a deep breath.

_One out._


	2. But What Kind of Heart Doesn't Look Back?

_(Three months prior)_

“Simmons.”

“Yes, what?”

“What are y-..you looking at?”

Fitz looked at her from across the lab bench expectantly, eyebrows raised. She realized he was eyeing the file in her hand, the one that Coulson had given to her yesterday with strict orders to study privately. She’d thought she could sneak in a bit of extra examination while Fitz busied himself on some general maintenance for Dopey, but apparently there was no such luck.

“Oh, nothing,” she dismissed, folding the files and tucking it away on the table behind her. 

The look on Fitz’s face told her that he didn’t believe her, and didn’t appreciate being kept in the dark. He emphasized his frustration with a sharp _tap_ of the screwdriver’s tip hitting the metal surface of the table, echoing louder than it should have. After a brief nod, he threw himself back into the task at hand.

Trying to push past the uneasiness that had settled, she came around the table to view what he was doing more closely. It was fairly easy to see that he was applying too much pressure to Dopey’s panel, and if he kept up, he was likely to strip the screw itself.

“Fitz, what are _you_ doing?”

He didn’t look at her, focused almost obsessively on the machinery in front of him. “Working on my… my..”

“Motor skills?” She reached out to rest a hand on his shoulder in support, but he immediately tensed, jerking away from her and dropping the screwdriver. She squeezed her eyes shut and ensured she was wearing a smile when he turned to face her.

“No! My _fine_ motor skills.” Jemma watched as his shoulders slumped, just as frustrated with himself as he was with her, it seemed. “I-I’m sorry. Sorry, Simmons.”

“It’s quite alright. Should we test him out, then?” She asked, gesturing to the drone.

He scratched the back of his neck. “I think I need to take a break, actually.”

“Okay,” she said, wringing her hands in front of her, “should we get some lunch? I’m sure you must be hungry.”

“If it’s all the same to you, I think I need to…” he trailed off, searching for the word, “ _I’d like_ to go to my r-room.”

She took a step back. “Right, well.. Yes, you should get rest when you can.”

“I’m not tired, I just want to be alone.”

_Don’t take it personally. He’s frustrated, it’s understandable._ “Oh.”

“Yeah, so…” he busied himself with straightening up his station so he could avoid her gaze. “Should we meet b- _back here_ in an hour?”

“Sounds perfect.”

“Okay.” Finally, he looked at her, apologetically. “Thanks, Jemma.”

She smiled. “Of course.”

After he left, she picked up the file Coulson had given her yesterday. She thumbed through the pages, scanning the information again, in order to psych herself up for the meeting she was about to have with him. She’d been avoiding the facts for far too long, but it was clear to her now. 

She was only making Fitz worse, and something had to be done about it. 

__________________________________________

“Simmons, just in time,” Coulson said as she came through the door. If he noticed the hesitancy in her gait, he didn’t make mention of it. May, who rarely made mention of anything, only looked at her with a nod. “We’re looking through these files here and we’re having trouble understanding the biology on page four, about three-quarters down.” He handed her the files, which she took expectantly. “Hopefully you can help translate it into, you know,” he eyed May with an amused smile, eyebrows sitting high on his forehead, “a form of english that the rest of us can understand.”

Jemma flipped through the report, quickly making sense of the report and doing as Coulson asked. At his grateful nod, she breathed in deep and prepared herself for what she was about to suggest.

“Sir,” she began, “if I might make an observation.”

He nodded. “I would appreciate it.”

_Remember that you said that,_ she thought.

“I believe May is the wrong person for this operation.”

That got his attention, it seemed. He tossed the file on his desk, turning to face her fully, not saying a word but still very successfully conveying a clear _‘Is that so?’_ at the idea. May, for her part, did not look offended, but merely continued her observation.

“The point is to infiltrate to the highest clearance levels of Hydra’s science division. We’re talking about standing out in a crowd of some of the brightest minds. Bright, _evil_ minds, but my point stands.”

“And you think you can accomplish that?”

She huffed (she couldn’t help it). “I’ve been doing that since before I joined Shield.”

He paused, realizing that he’d -- unintentionally -- questioned her intelligence. “I agree with you there, Simmons,” he gave her an appreciative nod, “but what happens when you need to fight your way out of a situation? You’re not cleared for combat, and as much as I appreciate your efforts, I’d rather not send my scientists out on another mission that--” he stopped himself, looking at her sympathetically. For a brief moment, she remembered the ocean again, and falling, calling out to Ward and ultimately Fitz to please stop and _think_.

“This isn’t a muscle mission, and the second May gives an answer to a question that’s not correct, she’ll be out, or worse. I admit that I’m not a traditional field agent,” she paused, “but this isn’t a traditional field.”

It was also a well-funded facility, with resources she could use to potentially help her help Fitz. She’d be lying if she hadn’t considered the possibilities. They created a machine to pull forgotten memories from deep recesses of the brain, after all. The process wasn’t refined, and it had been used for terrible reasons, but the fact of the matter was that if they were able to repair damage the portion of the brain that controlled memory, it was possible that they had the ability to create a device to help with Fitz aphasia.

Just because she wasn’t helping him by being there for him, didn’t mean she was going to stop trying. Because Jemma Simmons didn’t quit.

“So you’re saying May has a long way to go before she could possibly handle the potential situations that might come up undercover?”

“Yes.”

He nodded. “Sounds like you two need to spend more time go over the variables, then. I’m sorry Simmons, but the answer is no.”

Jemma’s shoulders slumped before she could help herself. “Sir--”

“That’ll be all, Agent Simmons.”

She nodded, determined to leave the room before embarrassing herself any more.

“Of course.”

__________________________________________

May was too good at sneaking up on people, Jemma thought, because she’d been content to mind her own business wallowing in frustration waiting for Fitz to rejoin her, when she was dragged out of her slump by the older agent calling her name. She let out a yelp, then clutched one hand to her chest and the other over her face, embarrassed.

“May! You scared me.”

“It’s been a long time since someone doubted my capabilities to my face.” May’s straight face gave away nothing to indicate if she was serious or not. Simmons knew it was best to assume the former.

“That’s not what I was trying to do, I swear!” She sighed. “I just need to be doing something -- _anything_ \-- to help the team. I can’t sit here when there’s an opportunity to use my expertise to get on the inside of Hydra’s developments.” She knew she was rambling, but she couldn’t help it. “I bet I could be head of their science department in a couple months, and that’s if everyone there is twice as smart as I assume they are, and _then_ just think of the secrets I’d have access to--” Mercifully, May interrupted her before she could continue selling herself.

“Is that what you think you’re doing here, Simmons? Sitting around?”

Jemma paused. “Besides trying to get the lab in order and babysitting Ward on the monitors? I don’t know. We don’t have the resources to develop much of anything new, and even if we did, I’d want Fitz as my second pair of eyes.”

May tilted her head. “I see. So is this what it’s really about?”

“No!” Jemma cringed at how quickly she responded. “I mean.. I meant all of those things I said. Really, if they even wait a month to make me head of their department, they’ll be dragging their feet.” She knew it wasn’t the answer May was looking for, but she hadn’t admitted what was on the tip of her tongue to anyone yet. Hell, she’d barely admitted it to herself. She didn’t know if she could carry the weight the actual words being spoken out loud. But if there was anyone besides Fitz she could trust to keep what she said to themselves, it was May.

“He can barely stand to be around me, May. I keep trying to help him, but I’m putting words in his mouth or I’m treating him too gently, or not gently enough, I can’t figure it out.” She can see that May is still listening patiently, and decides to carry on. “I saw him talking with Skye in the lab the other day, and he was doing _so well_. But when I came in, he got so... frustrated, and shut down. Right now he’s in his room, avoiding me, I’m sure. I thought maybe if I gave him some space, he could get better. Without me. I even considered that Hydra might have more resources to find a way to help him. We all know they took most of it for themselves after the fall.”

She shook her head, letting the conversation get back to the matter at hand. “But it doesn’t matter, Coulson doesn’t seem like he’s going to agree to my proposal.”

May nodded. “He wasn’t going to. At first.”

“At first? Does that mean...?”

“I talked to him. He agreed to it, but only if I clear you for combat.” When Simmons started to interject, she continued, “ _Basic combat_. No matter how well you plan, Simmons, you need to be prepared. We’ll start tomorrow, 0500 hours. Is that going to be a problem with you and Fitz in the lab?”

“No, no it’s perfect.” Fitz usually wasn’t in the lab until 7:30 most mornings, and wasn’t really _conscious_ in the lab until later than that. If he happened to notice she wasn’t already there and working, the likelihood he would ask about her whereabouts was slim. If anything, she thought, it would serve as a dry run to the space she was preparing to give him. A test to see how he got along in the lab without her. “I’m sorry, I’m still a little stunned he agreed with this. Thank you, May, really.”

“Coulson has his reservations, I’m sure you know that.”

“I can do this.”

May didn’t hesitate. “You’re a terrible liar.”

“I know my track record with lying has been,” she shot her eyes to the ceiling, searching for the appropriate words, “less than successful. But I’m get--”

“I’m not talking about Sitwell. I’m talking about right now.”

Jemma’s shoulders slumped. “Oh. Well.” She re-righted herself. “Do _you_ think I can do it?”

At first, May did nothing beyond raising one lone brow. “I advocated for it. I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t.” As she walked closer to her, she uncrossed her arms, bringing them down to rest on her hips. “But I’m not going to be there, Simmons. None of us will. If you’re counting on us to give you a pep talk every time you need it, you’re going to be in trouble, fast. You need to tell yourself that you’re capable of this. Can you work in a lab?”

She shook her head at the abrupt change of topic. “I’m sorry?”

“Can you work in a lab? Yes or no?”

“Yes.”

“Good, I believe that. And that’s what you’ll be doing. Don’t ask yourself if you can go undercover at Hydra. Ask yourself _that_ when you have doubts.”

For the first time in the conversation, Jemma smiled. “Yes, of course. I can do that!” As May began to walk out, she called after her. “Thank you, again. I can’t tell you what this means to me.”

Simmons couldn’t see her face, but she could hear a change in her tone when May spoke next. It was softer, maybe even a little sad with understanding. “I believe that, too.” Then, with a smirk, she looked over her shoulder to add, “but I might not if you say it again after tomorrow morning.” And then she was gone.

Left alone in the lab, Simmons felt her limbs began to thrum with anticipation. Or maybe it was anxiety. More likely both, mixed up into an emotional cocktail with a garnish of excitement.

She could have really used a drink.

Knowing that was out of the realm of possibility, questions started running through her head. _‘You need to tell yourself that you’re capable of this,’_ May said.

Could she trade this lab for another? _Yes_.

Does she want to help keep Hydra from succeeding? _Yes_.

Could she survive basic training with May? _..Probably, yes. Yes. Eventually._

Will this help Fitz? _Yes._

Could she lie to him? 

...

_I will._

Wholly content with the afternoon’s surprising turn of events, she cleared her mind, ran to her room and took her duffel out of her closet and begun to pack. It was still another 20 minutes before she had to meet Fitz back in the lan, anyways.

And it was never too early to start preparation.

__________________________________________

Simmons watched with a grateful smile as Trip slung the last of her bags over his shoulder with ease. “Thank you, Trip. I hope it’s not too heavy.”

“Believe me, this is nothing.” He looked at her with his trademark smile and readjusted the strap on his shoulder. “You might be the lightest packer I know. You sure you’ve got enough clothes in this thing to even last the plane ride?”

“If I don’t, it’s only because I had to make room for more Twizzlers.” At his curious glance, she continued. “My dad. He loves the stuff, but it’s not easy to come by in Sheffield.”

_‘Say something true in and of itself,’ May had taught her one morning between sparring sessions. ‘Just use it to answer a question you don’t want to answer directly.’_

“How the other half lives,” Trip said with a disapproving shake of his head. The easy banter was something she truly appreciated about him, and one of the many things she was going to miss in the upcoming months.

She couldn’t help but sigh, “I’m going to miss you, Trip.”

He let out a small laugh and put his free arm around her, beginning to lead her into the hallway. “Don’t forget, girl, May isn’t the only pilot around here. If you need an extra player for family game night, just say the word. I’m a force to be reckoned with in Charades. Maybe I’ll bring Fitz and we can take a good old fashioned road trip to visit Mrs. Fitz while we’re at it. Think of the baby photos.”

“Oh, I’ve seen them. And you didn’t hear this from me, but...” She wrapped her arm that was pressed between them around his waist and leaned her head until it was supported by his shoulder, whispering, “ _Children’s kilt_.” Trip’s responding laughter echoed through the hall.

She thought of young Fitz, dressed adoringly in clothes two sizes two big for him, and of the older Fitz’s reaction when he caught his mom with her, sitting side-by-side scouring through an assortment of pictures on the floor of their living room. “Do me a favor, would you?”

“Anything, Simmons.”

“Just,” she stopped walking and turned to face him more evenly, hoping he would understand the weight behind her question, “look after him, okay? Not that he needs.. I’m not saying he needs someone to watch him, I just--”

“Simmons,” Trip said, grabbing her shoulder reassuringly. “He’ll be fine, okay? You’ll be back and cracking the whip on his recovery before he knows it.” She knew he meant well, but should help but cringe at the phrasing. _Is that really what she was doing?_

“But yes,” he continued, “I’ll look out for him. We all will. You know that.”

She nodded, then rolled her eyes as if to dismiss the notion. “Right, well…”

May and Coulson appeared around the corner of the base, as they made their way to where she and Trip were standing just outside her room. “Well Agent Simmons, ready to go?” Coulson asked.

“This is the last of it. But if you ask me, I think she loaded the last two bags with rocks just to see if I’d carry them for her.” Trip gestured to the bag on his back. Shooting a wink to her, he cut through the two of them and continued on to the garage, where the rest of her bags were waiting in the SUV. He turned to face them again, and as he walked backwards, said, “Remember, Simmons.” He followed it with wildly exaggerated Charades signs for _movie, two words, first word_ , before he was gone.

Coulson gave her a curious expression, but she waved him off. “It’s nothing. And yes, I’m just about ready. Do you mind if I have a moment.. with Agent May?” He nodded and turned to trail Trip down the hall. May followed her into her room, coming to a stop in the center as she closed the door.

“Simmons?” She asked.

“I just wanted to say how grateful I am. For everything you’ve done for me in the last three weeks. So… thank you.” As she spoke, Simmons fiddled with the doorknob, twisting it just shy of actually opening the door while she tried to work up to what she had called May in for.

“Is that it?” May easily saw through. Since their conversation all those weeks ago, when Coulson had first agreed to her taking over the operation, there was an understanding that allowed Jemma to feel comfortable enough to let her guard down. Not that May wouldn’t have been able to see through her anyways.

As she spoke, Jemma walked to her nightstand and pulled out something from the top drawer. “You’ve done an excellent job training me in these last few weeks, and this is not to say I’m not _completely_ confident in my abilities…”

“But?”

Jemma hesitated. How exactly was one supposed to go about something like this?

“But I also remember you saying that no matter how well I plan, I should always be prepared for the worst. And so, I’d like you to take this,” She presented May with a small wooden box. It looked to be several years old, with slightly worn edges around the lid, which was attached to the rest of the box with a small brass hinge in the back. “It’s for Fitz. I would appreciate it if you gave it to him in the event that anything goes wrong. Not that I think it will! It’s just that if it did, I would... well, I would want him to have this.”

May took the box she held out to her. Her thumb lifted the lid as she did so, although not enough to expose its contents. Jemma winced. “I wanted to wrap it, to make it a little more presentable, but I didn’t have time.”

“It’s fine, Simmons.” May said, looking down at the object in her hands and running her fingertips along the seal. “I’ll keep it until you get back.”

With a small smile, Jemma let out a huff of air through her nose, grateful that May could be trusted to keep potentially emotional conversations short and simple. “Good,” she nodded.

They made their way out of the room, only stopping so that May could quickly step into her own quarters to set the box in her dresser, before continuing on to meet Coulson in the waiting SUV. Simmons took one last look back -- no Fitz -- before closing the door to the car, bidding farewell to the base.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for the wonderful response thus far -- I appreciate every comment more than you know! Multi-chapter/not-complete-fluff is very new territory for me. Also a huge thanks to agentcalliope for being my second pair of eyes on this chapter.


	3. Mission Details

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay, but...here you go.

_(Present Day)_

“Not the AA-12, put that away!”

“You always use the shotgun!” His cry was punctuated with a round of gunfire in the distance. “Oh, hell…!”

“Switch out, Turbo, c’mon. Try the glock 18. _The glock 18_.”

“I heard you!”

“Or the desert eagle.”

“Bloody-- _pick one!_ ”

But it was too late. As he ran for cover, another series of shots rang out, the final bullet striking him fatally. His vision went to black as he fell backwards onto the dusty tile below.

“Sorry, Turbo, we can’t all be cool under pressure.” Mack placed a faux-supportive hand on his shoulder as he took the controller from him.

“Yeah, yeah.” He sighed, giving the device over to him, a gesture of give-and-take that had become familiar in the last couple of weeks. “My hand was fine, by the way. Can’t say the same for your..your shot-calling,” Fitz criticised, earning a low chuckle.

Mack’s patience with him, along with his no-nonsense attitude, had actually been a great help to Fitz. It had been nice to have someone around who tolerated the bad parts about him while appreciating the good. Once upon a time, that role had solely belonged to someone else, and although Fitz would gladly trade the present (apologies to Mack) in order to have that back, he was grateful for whatever companionship he still had around the base.

An unfamiliar voice drew Mack’s attention to the hall behind them, and Fitz followed until he could see Trip and a tall brunette woman walking past.

“I’ll be damned,” Mack said, eyes trailing after the both of them.

“What? Who-who is that?” Fitz asked, trying his best not to flinch at his own stutter. Just because Mack didn’t seem alarmed by the stranger walking with Trip into Coulson’s office, didn’t mean he wasn’t at least hesitant. 

“An old friend,” he said, letting out an amused sigh. “Here, let’s go--” Mack was halfway off the sofa and gesturing to Fitz when he saw a second group of people moving in the same direction as Trip and the mystery woman had been earlier. “Actually,” he said, “wait here a minute and I’ll introduce you. I just wanna make sure they’re not preparing to debrief.”

Fitz pressed his palms together. “Oh, um, okay.”

With a nod, Mack handed him the controller and prepared to follow the group down the hall. Fitz watched as he quickly looked left, then nodded and kept walking. Next he saw May, followed closely behind by Coulson and Hunter. He could have sworn he saw Hunter tap Coulson on the arm and gesture in his direction, although Coulson didn’t react. The two made their way out of his line of sight when Skye appeared, trailing a little more behind. She was the only one to look in his direction as she passed, but when her eyes met his, he noticed the uneasy look he found in them. Her mouth dropped open slightly, like she was going to say something, but instead she turned and walked faster to catch up to the crowd in front of her.

Disappointment nagged at him. Was he the only person deemed expendable for this meeting? _Nothing new, of course,_ he thought. Coulson had attempted to bridge the gap recently, but there was still so much about the situation that didn’t sit well with him. Telling him about Simmons was a step in the right direction, but looking back, what did he even really say that he didn’t already assume? That she wasn’t with her parents? That much had been fairly obvious. Still, he had no idea about the details. Was she still on the same continent? Cataloging inventory that was still left at The Fridge? Regardless, the fact that the rest of his team -- and this new girl, apparently -- were convening without him didn’t do any service to his already-damaged self-esteem. He tried to distract himself with another unsuccessful go at the video game they had been playing, but it felt like only a few minutes passed before he couldn’t stand it anymore.

Maybe they didn’t think he could be helpful, but at least he would be there to either prove them right or wrong.

“Oh, Fitz, don’t be so dramatic.” A familiar voice spooked him at his side.

“Wha--” he said, bringing a hand to his chest and taking in the sight of Not Simmons, looking at him disapprovingly. “What are you doing here?”

She gave a shrug. “We both know I don’t get much say in that, do I?”

He sighed, combing his fingers through his hair, as if they were nerves to be settled so easily. “I just mean that… I haven’t seen you in awhile, is all.”

“Ah. Well, you’ve been occupied quite a bit lately. Having beers with Hunter, practicing you fine motor skills with Mack, an-”

“Don’t,” Fitz interjected, holding a finger up to stop her and noticing that it didn’t flinch. “Just don’t say it like that, okay? Sounds… _suggestive_. Video games, we play _video games_.”

Not Simmons flashed him a smile, warm and inviting. “I’m just trying to say that you haven’t been seeing me because you’re seeing other people. Real people, Fitz. I think that’s wonderful. And you must know it, too, considering...” Lips taut and brows raised, she gestured to herself, then to his head. 

“Yeah, I know.” 

Settling back into the couch further, he stared blankly at the screen before him and tried to ignore the way the cushion next to him _didn’t_ dip as Not Simmons took a seat to his right.

“They’re not you, though.” he admitted, looking down at his lap. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see her bring her hand up to rest on his knee. He could feel her thumb swipe supportively across his kneecap. From his overactive imagination, or from remembering the sensation of his Simmons doing the same months ago while their feet soaked in a motel pool, he wasn’t sure.

When she squeezed lightly, he looked up to meet her gaze to see her looking back at him fondly.

“And I’m not her.”

Moment dissolved, he stood up abruptly and turned toward the door. 

“I’ve got to be going, I think. Nice seeing you.” Fitz could hear her sigh behind him, but forced himself not to look back as he headed out into the hallway toward Coulson’s office. He tried to push her out of his mind, focusing instead on all the reason why he should be including in whatever they were discussing. As he approached, he could hear muffled voices, but nothing so clearly that he could make out anything distinctive. Just before he could get close enough to know, however, Coulson swung the door open and stepped out, seemingly (and pleasantly?) surprised to see him there.

“Fitz, good, we need you on this. Come in.” Hiding his shock, Fitz followed. Inside, he took inventory of the various people in the room, paying particular attention to the woman he had seen Trip come in with earlier. From what he could suss out, she was conversing with Mack, talking about some other mission from before they’d ended up here. On the other side, Trip and May seemed engrossed on whatever was on the tablet he was holding in front of her, gesturing at points on the screen to her approval. Next to Mack, Hunter stood, looking for the world as if he’d rather be anywhere else.

Anticipating his questions, Coulson gestured to the woman at the center. “This is Agent Barbara Morse--”

She stood forward, not offering a hand but giving him a friendly nod. “Bobbi, please.”

“She-Devil is also acceptable,” Hunter cut in.

Bobbi rolled her eyes, not paying him any direct attention. “Still with the nickname, that’s cute.”

“ _Bobbi_ ,” Coulson interjected, shooting a half amused glance to Hunter, “Has been undercover for the last couple of months at a known Hydra laboratory. Her cover was blown tonight, but she managed to bring us back this nice souvenir from the gift shop.”

In his hand, Coulson showed off what was clearly a hard drive. Or, more accurately, what was left of it. There was obvious physical damage to the casing, made evident by the way it shook when he waved it in his hand.

“Sir, that’s..” Fitz motioned towards it, grateful that words weren’t necessary to explain what he thought of it’s current state. He frowned at a piece hanging on by one connecting wire.

Bobbi cut in, “Damaged? Yeah, an emergency exit can do that to you. But from what I’ve heard, you’re the best man to get it back up and running and, more importantly, useful to us.” She gave him a small smile that was warm and knowing. Despite his initial reservations, and Hunter’s responding groan, he couldn’t help but be comforted by it.

He looked to Coulson and moved closer in order to take the harddrive from him. On closer inspection, it was much more intact than it seemed. Although it was obvious that it wouldn’t provide much use in its current state, he was confident he could work with it.

“It’s extremely important that we restore the hard drive and get the information off of it as soon as possible. Whatever Hydra’s working on, I’m sure it’s in there.” Coulson prodded the corner of the hard drive, grimacing as a small piece of it fell to the floor. “I trust that you can do this?”

Picking up the piece that fell to the floor, Fitz couldn’t help the familiar feeling of pride that seeped into his chest. Months of being walked around like a disaster zone in the lab, of being left behind and in the dark, and finally, he was being asked to help with a crucial part of a mission again. Because he was a valuable member of the team, and Coulson could see his progress. Because without Simmons he could at least be Fitz and _finally_ , he could prove that it meant something.

But that was a lot of words, none of which were necessary for the question at hand, so he nodded in confirmation and said, “I’ll get to work on it now.” With a quick nod to Bobbi, he turned on his heels to leave.

“Oh, and Fitz?” He turned to face Coulson again. “The information on that hard drive is highly sensitive, so your mission is only to repair, not to analyze. Is that clear?”

Fitz stopped. Information potentially regarding Hydra’s newest biologically engineered weapon, and he was being told to leave it alone? He might not be the one with a PhD in Biology, but if there was anyone on the base best equipped to analyze the blueprints on a weapon, he was it. So why would he be told to do the opposite?

_Because they still don’t think you can._

Determined to prove them wrong, he only nodded and exited the room.

So caught up, he missed that Skye avoided eye contact the entire time.

_______________________________________________

When Jemma got back to the base, she had a couple of things to add to her to-do list. One, she was due for a nice, hot shower. Maybe even a little time off for a massage (surely Coulson would approve a day off after everything). She was going to appreciate the fact that someone -- May, although she would never admit it -- always kept the kitchen stocked with the specific tea that her and Fitz enjoyed, because it wasn’t easy to come by and she sorely missed it. She was going to have a proper girls night with Skye, and rope Bobbi in if she was still around. Oh, and she had to make sure to _never let anyone shackle her wrists ever again_.

It was an odd resolution in the big picture of things, she knew, but at the moment it felt very, very important.

Immediately after being captured, Bakshi had made good on his word and taken her upstairs to Whitehall’s office. Soon she had found herself being dragged kicking and screaming (literally, but only until they covered her mouth to prevent it) to a smaller connected room. It didn’t take a genius to realize where she was. She’d read enough about Whitehall’s tactics in preparing for the mission to know what they were going to attempt. Moreover, she’d seen the affects of it in person. Sometimes when Jemma closed her eyes, she could still see Donnie’s panicked eyes from the harbor those weeks ago.

Despite her size, she put her best effort into fighting against the two men positioning her in front of a large television screen. She recalled some kind of false bravado falling from her lips in Bakshi’s general direction at the sensation of her arms, then legs, being constrained. Something about thinking she was small-minded enough to be manipulated like this, she thought. It wasn’t her best.

She heard, rather than saw, a commotion going on in the other room. The two Hydra agents that had oh-so-gracefully strapped her into the contraption she was in were called away, Bakshi following in tow. Confident that she was secure, they closed the door to keep her unaware of the conversation going on next door.

The couple of minutes that followed consisted of Jemma unsuccessfully trying to find a weak point in her restraints. She attempted to twist her already small fists to wiggle through the unflexing metal keeping them in place, but only managed to irritate the skin and cause considerable discomfort to her thumbs. C’mon, May had taught her this, for God’s sake. Not that she really ever got to practice it, but every time she was sure she’d convinced herself that a broken thumb was worth it if it meant she could slip her hand through, the pain that shot down her wrist begged to differ. Nevertheless, she kept trying, until later when Whitehall himself came in to greet her.

“Doctor Simmons, it’s a pleasure to see you again. I wish it were under different circumstances.” Internally, she rolled her eyes. _They’re all so polite,_ she thought. “I’m sure you don’t need anyone to remind you of your brilliance. To say the least, we are very excited to have you come on board.”

Jemma cocked her head back. “I’m not going to help you. You might as well kill me instead of wasting your time.” She had no idea where the confidence came from, but she did her best to keep a stone face rather than let her fear show.

Whitehall looked her over, reaching out to gently touch her elbow while examining the stress in her limbs as she fought the restraints, before coming back to meet her gaze. “I believe that everyone can be compliant, Jemma.” 

She couldn’t be sure if it was the idea of compliancy or the fact that he used her first name, but for lack of any other options, she did the only thing she could to defend herself.

She spat. Very pathetically and to no avail. Apparently her aim hadn’t improved since she used to throw wadded up paper at Fitz’s head to wake him up while studying for finals.

Regardless, the next thing she felt was the same hand that he removed from her elbow landing a hard slap against her cheek, then the _thump_ of her head hitting the steel behind her as Whitehall gripped his fingers around her throat. She let out a brief cry at the metallic taste of blood dripping into her mouth. When she looked back at Whitehall, she could see the the well composed aggression hiding behind his professional demeanor. Unlike Bakshi, who clearly didn’t fight his own battles, Whitehall was someone who had done many terrible, dark things to become the man that stood in front of her now.

With a hand still around her throat, he clutched a little tighter and smiled. “We’ve had a pleasant surprise tonight. Besides you, of course. Something that requires your immediate cooperation.”

Which was how she found herself at the current moment, released from the Faustus device and constrained instead to a table in a dark room on the same floor. 

Bakshi was with her again, seated on the table on the opposite side of her, looking uncharacteristically casual. In his hands, he swiped through various screens on the phone he confiscated from her earlier. He paused eventually, before tapping the screen and bringing up a video she knew well. 

_”Okay Jemma, get ready to make a wish and we’ll blow out the candles for you.”_ She could hear Coulson say.

The first time she watched the video after receiving it, she remembered wishing she was back home with her friends. With --

_”Happy birthday, Jemma. It’s not the same without you here.”_

Fitz.

She closed her eyes, picturing the image in her head. It wasn’t hard. She must have watched that video at least a hundred times, half of which were probably spent on her actual birthday. Seeing his face, hearing the lightness in his voice and noticing the steady aim of the phone as he recorded had hit her so strongly that she didn’t know if the tears that rolled down her face were good or bad. She had gone to sleep that night, eyes puffy and with a smile, clutching the phone in her hands and replaying the video until she fell asleep. It was the only time she had been late to work the next day, since her phone died, leaving her without an alarm. She bought the alarm clock radio she used now the very next day.

As the video continued to its finish, Bakshi set the screen down to face her and rested his hands on the tabletop.

“We’ve had some interesting developments in the last couple of hours, Agent Simmons.” He hadn’t learned to say ‘agent’ without malice. “A most unexpected visitor -- besides your friends, of course -- who’s brought us a very interesting artifact. As a result, it looks like cooperation will be needed immediately. I don’t anticipate that that’s going to be a problem. What with you providing us this information as to how you might be persuaded..”

He gestured to the phone, the screen beginning to dim. She could still make out Fitz’s smiling face, and knew the threat Bakshi implied. Fighting against the lump in her throat, she willed herself to remember everything she could of May’s training.

_“Don’t let them know they affect you…”_

She struck her chin out in defiance. “They’d see you coming.”

He gave a small nod. “Yes, I’m sure they would. And at the moment, Hydra’s more interested in framing Shield, and an attack on their base would certainly complicate matters. But just know, Agent Simmons, that we will do what’s necessary. Think about that when we brief you on your assignment later. You compliance will be rewarded, yes. But in the meantime, you’re cooperation will save them.”

 _They need you,_ she thought. ‘They’ meaning Shield, ‘they’ meaning Hydra. Against both of their better judgements, they needed her to be exactly where she was. _Don’t throw it away._

She took one last moment to look back down at her phone, just a moment before the screen went black. She thought of her friends, of how hard everyone had worked to get here, and to get _her_ here. She thought of the mission, and how, technically, she was still capable of accomplishing it.

 _“Don’t let them know they affect you,”_ May had said, _“doesn’t mean you can’t be weak. Let them think you’re weak. Let them think they’ve won, or that they’ve backed you into a corner. Just don’t let them notice you use it against them.”_

She thought of Fitz, and how no matter how difficult the problem was, he always assured her that she was too stubborn to leave it unsolved. She swallowed, eyes welling slightly only to blink tears away ‘before Bakshi could see them.’ She took satisfaction in his small, conniving grin that spread across his face, and bit back her own.

“What do you need me to do?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unbeta-ed, so any/all mistakes are on me.

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally going to be a one-shot, but now there's a whole story coming down the pipeline. You know how it goes. I have several more chapters written already, and will post them as they get finalized. It's my first multi-chapter, so we're venturing into new and scary waters together.
> 
> The title comes from 'Breathe Again' by Sara Bareilles.
> 
> Find me on tumblr -- I'm plentyofmalk there, too.


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